


Canticle of Transfigurations

by Dragomir



Series: Stocks [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (gone horribly horribly wrong), Aftermath of Torture, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Safeword Use, Safewords, aftermath of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They can't take Bull from him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transfigurations 12:1

**Author's Note:**

> Bull is not his enemy and the Inquisitor is _not_ going to win.

Dorian sucks in a breath through his teeth. _Breathe. This is easy. You have done this before. It is enjoyable_.

He lets it out again, slowly. Blinks. Looks around the room. Let it come into focus: Ugly curtains in his field of vision. Plaidweave, hideous, but comforting. Bull’s ugly, hideous curtains. Set them on fire…? Has he? Did he se… _son of a_ bitch _! Get that whore collared, damnit!_ No. _Breathe_. Breathe. Breathe carefully; he is _safe_. This is Bull’s room. No one will challenge the Iron Bull here.

Undress, slowly, carefully. Buckles undone. Glittering pieces of metal – his armor. Straps bang against his sides. Thin leather, not restraining him. These are his clothes. It is his choice to undress. He doesn’t have to. He does. Fold the robes carefully. Jewelry on top. Socks tucked into his boots, boots placed next to the bed. Careful. Methodical. He can do this. _Breathe_. _You are safe here_. Down to his smalls. Hesitate. Hesitation.

I can’t.

Hesitate. Fingers curled around the edge of the silk. _I can’t_. Tug them down. Down, down, off his lean hips and on the floor. Exposed. He can’t run now. Panic. No! Breathe. Breathe. Carefully. He is safe. Not exposed. Admired. Someone to be admired.

_Icant…_

“I love you. I love you. _Te amo, te amoteamoteamo…_ ” He panics and slips into Tevene. Reassure. Reassurance. He has to remind himself. _Bull_.

Dorian crawls into Bull’s bed, straddles his lover’s waist. Scars under his hands. Soft flesh, exposed skin. He explores cautiously, tries to calm his racing pulse with gentle exploration. He is _safe_. Bull is still under him. Not demanding. Not touching, or teasing, grabbing… No. Bull loves him. Dorian whimpers and slides sideways off Bull’s waist. Curls up. _Breathe_. He splays his fingers over Bull’s broad chest as a heavy grey arm circles his shoulders, pulls him in close.

Crushes. Crushing. _Hands holding him down. Fingers pressing bruises into his hips, his waist, crushing his throat until he ch-_ NO! No. Not crushing. Bull will not hurt him. Protective. Bull will protect him. A shield. Safety. He takes another deep breath and shudders. Revulsion. No. This is Bull. He is safe.

He straddles Bull’s hips again. Fingers twining with his, squeezing gently. Reassurance. He can do this. Bull is _safe_. He will be safe. He is loved. Rolls his hips against Bull’s, smiles and gets one in return. A slow, easy, gentle smile. Bull won’t hurt hi-

_Slut. WHAM. Stop whimpering, you haven’t felt_ anything _yet. WHAM_. Nonononono.

Breathe. Breathe. In through the nose. Hold. Hold. Hold. Grey spots in front of his eyes. Let it out, slowly. Slow. Slow. Gentle. Soft exhale. Pulse racing in his wrists, pounding in his temples, too hard too fast too _much! No, stop please I’ll be good, o Maker hear m_ —hands twined with his squeeze gently.

Reassurance. Grounding him. Keeping him safe, in his own head.

“I love you.” He breathes through his mantra. Calm. Meditative. Roll hips again. Smile. Keep sm _iling, they won’t beat you if you smile and say thank you. Be a good boy, smile and say thank you after e—_

“I love you. I love you. _Te amo,_ Bull. _Te amo_.” Repeat it. Repeat it. Repeat. Dorian bends to kiss Bull. Lips pressed together. Soft at first. Gentle, undemanding. Loving. Not a mockery, not mocking him in a parody of affection. Dorian swallows his fear and kisses Bull hungrily. Don’t panic. Bull is not the enemy. Bull was not in that courtyard. He has to keep kissing Bull. Bull is the one touching and grasping. Gentle. Gently. Not like the soldiers, harsh and demanding and cruel. Bull is gentle with him. Bull loves him.

“ _Te amo, amatus_.” Reaffirm. Reaffirm. Reaffirm until you don’t fear him. Reaffirm. Bull was not there. He was not there. He was not one of the ones who— _be a good whore and kiss me. Tell me you love me. Don’t be such a prude, you wanted this_.

More hungry, desperate kissing. Bull loves him. Bull loves him. Bull. Loves. Him.

Dorian whimpers into the kiss. Eyes slam shut. Panicked breathing. He can’t… Hands twined with his squeeze. Tipping to the side, onto the mattress. Whimper. No, please, please, no… Hand stroking his side, shoulder to hip, shoulder to hip. Oh Maker, please… Please, dear Maker, _no_ …

“Amatus. Amatus…” The word is a prayer on his lips. “I love you.” Moan – fear or pleasure? Dorian forces his eyes open. Look. See. Reassurance. A look of molten devotion on a familiar scarred face. Bull _loves_ him. Adores him. Adoration. Concern.

Dorian stifles a sob. Kisses Bull’s cheeks. Nose. Lips. Kiss the hurt away. Bull is not his enemy. “Amatus…” A soft wail.

“Dori-” Concern. A soft rumble.

“I love you! Please…” Dorian presses his face into Bull’s neck and sobs. “ _Te amo, amatus, te amo te amo te amo…_ ”

_Come now, Dorian. Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy this. The whole of_ Skyhold _know that you kneel for that overgrown ox. This is just fun for you… A hand in his hair, grabbing, shaking him like a ragdoll. Slap. Slap. WHAM. A hand on his face, gent—_

“ _No, no, nononono._ NO! KATOH!” Dorian shrieks. Claws away. The word makes it stop it has to stop he’s said the word katohkatoh _KATOH!_ Chest heaving. Draw in air. He can’t see. Vision grey. Can’t breathe. Can’t…no, please. Please. Katohkatohkatohkatoh!

Dorian shudders and curls up when he hits the fl…floor? Look up. Look around. Bull’s room. This is Bull’s room. Plaidweave curtains. Hideous, awful curtains – singed at the bottom. There – Bull’s awful striped trousers, draped over a chair. An axe embedded in the footboard.

Breeze. Frigid. Chilling. He shivers and looks for the source. A hole in the roof – familiar. He… Hadn’t he complained to Bull about it not getting fixed?

He crawls back onto the bed and curls up against Bull, breathing deeply. Shudder. Breathe. Inhale. Musk and darkness. Oil. Leather. Earth. Cleanliness. _Savage_. _HIS_ savage. Breathe. Reassure. Reassurance: Musk. Bull. Bull is not the enemy.

“I love you.”

A hand on his waist, stroking. Stroke. Long, soothing motions. Careful of his back. Firm pressure. Rough calluses against soft skin. Warmth as intense as an open kiln. Dorian shudders, relaxes. Breathes. Bull is not his enemy. Amatus. Love. Beloved. _Amatus…_

“I love you.”

Repeat it until it is not an affirmation. Repeat until it is the truth. Repeat until it no longer causes terror. I love you. I love you. I love you. Breathe deeply. Bull’s scent. Kadan. Amatus.

“Amatus. _Amatus_.” Soft sob.

Hand curls over his shoulder. Large rough palm, long fingers – stubby, missing joints, familiarity – calluses. Warmth like a kiln. Ward against the chill of this awful place. Dorian buries his face in Bull’s shoulder and sobs. Small circles. Small circles. Rub. Rub. Massaging his shoulder. Calm. Careful. Like he is fragile. Wail like a child.

“Be safe, kadan.” Bull’s rumble. Reverberating in his ears, thrumming and going deep into his bones. Love. Love him. Bull is not the enemy.

Dorian sobs until he falls asleep in Bull’s arms.


	2. Transfigurations 12:3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can't take this from him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Maker, know my heart  
>  _Take from me a life of sorrow_  
>  _Lift me from a world of pain_  
>  Judge me worthy of Your endless pride 
> 
> -Transfigurations 12:3

“ _Dorian_.” Calm. Commanding. Gentle.

Dorian ignores the voice. There are hands on his hips. _Be a good boy._ He rolls his hips back, smiles. _Be a good boy_. He can be good. He’ll be good.

“Dorian. Look at me.” An order.

He’ll be good. Look up, look up, follow orders and be a good boy. Eyes wide, whites showing – fear. No, no, please he’ll be good. …no, it’s Bull. Bull won’t hurt him. This is _Bull_ , and Bull is not his enemy. Sigh, close eyes. Breathe. Breathe. Let go of Bull, look up slowly. A hesitant smile – he is safe. He’s been a good boy, hasn’t he? He…he won’t be punished?

“You don’t have to do this, kadan.”

… _No_. No, no, no, he _has_ to do this _now_. He can’t let them _win_. Bull loves him. He’s not broken, and he can _still_ do this. He _has_ to do this, or he’ll be broken, he _can’t_ be broken – Pavus men don’t _break_. He has to do this.

Dorian presses against Bull’s chest. Warmth. Warm. Warmer than an open kiln. He shivers. The cold can be chased away. Bull’s arms wrapped around him. Safety. A shield. Safe. Safe. He is _safe_. Bull is not the enemy. Amatus. Love. Beloved. _Kadan_. My _heart_.

“Te amo.” Press a kiss to Bull’s chest. Need. Want. Desire. _Save me_. “I…I…n-ne…” He whimpers. He can’t… He’s supposed to say what he _needs_ , but he _can’t_. _Bad boy. Do you know what happens to bad boys?_

“Shhhhh,” Bull soothes. “Tell me what you need, kadan.”

“I…” Dorian’s breath hitches. He needs…needs… He needs _Bull_. “I n…I need you in me, amatus.” He rolls his hips against Bull’s. He _needs_ this. Rolls his hips against Bull’s again. Rutting. Rut. Animals. _Acting like a bitch in heat._ No. No! Bull is not an animal. Bull doesn’t take unless given. _Bull is not the enemy_. Dorian moans softly, presses his forehead to Bull’s. Inhale.

Musk. Leather. Oil. Dark places. Safe. _Safety. Save me,_ please _, save me._ “Amatus…” He whines petulantly at the denial from his amatus. “Amatuuuuuuuuus.” Whining. A wail. Pleading. He _wants_. He wants Bull. Bull is not his enemy. Bull loves him. Won’t hurt him. Lover, not abuser. Love. Lover. _Te amo._

Large hands under his buttocks, lifting. Dorian moans softly. Bull’s ha… _hurts_. _Hands on him, blunt fingers shoving in with no care for his comfort. Rough, prodding. Hurts…_ NO! No, this is _Bull_. Bull loves him.

Dorian wraps his legs around Bull’s waist and presses needy kisses to Bull’s lips and face. Bull loves him.

 _Fingers, scraping against that spot in him. Moan. Rutting against the hands like a bitch in heat. It hurts, oh_ Maker, _it hurts!_

Nonononononono… No! This is _Bull_. Bull with slick fingers, probing gently and tracing his entrance with soft strokes. Soft, sweet, so painfully gentle and undemanding. Bull loves him. Dorian rubs against Bull’s cloth-covered erection. Desireable. Desired. Bull still desires him. Shaking. Shudder in fear. No, this is _Bull_. Bull loves him, is not his enemy. Bull’s fingers are slick, dripping with oil. Too much oil, far too much, but he’s being so _gentle_. Teasing. Soft. Sweet.

One large, blunt finger pressing into him. Thick. Teasing. Slick. Gentle. Amatus. Amatus. Bull is not his enemy. Bull loves him. Bull will not hurt hi— Dorian gasps as the finger slides in at last. Oh. Oh, _Maker_.

 _Look at the little slut, enjoying his treat. Slut want another one? Bite him, bite him,_ bite him!Bad _slut! Oh, oh Maker, please, no, don’t don’t dontdontdont, oh Maker it_ hurts _, please Maker let it stoooooo—_

Falling. He is falling, world tilting wildly and he can’t… He’s on the bed. It’s _safe_ here. Dorian sobs and grinds against Bull. Bull _loves_ him. Bull will always love him. He’s not the enemy. He doesn’t hurt. He is _gentle_.

“Amatus… Amatus, please,” Dorian whispers, mouthing the words wetly against Bull’s neck, pleading and praying and begging not to be abandoned. He _needs_ this, needs Bull, needs to know that they still have… _this_. He needs Bull to want him, to have him, to take him and claim him and take back what the soldiers took and he…

He whines at the loss as Bull slides his thick finger out. No, he _needs_ this, he didn’t say the word Bull doesn’t get to stop yet heneedsthisnow… He ruts against Bull, needy and desperate. “Amatus, amatus, amatus…” he chants, pleading. He _needs_ Bull. The soldiers can’t take Bull from him too.

Slick. Pressing. So utterly _gentle_. Dorian sobs in relief as Bull carefully, gently, far too gently, presses two slick fingers in. He can do this. No demands. Letting him adjust. Slick, so slick, he can feel the oil in him and on Bull’s fingers and it must be making such a mess but he’s being so _gentle_. He is safe. Bull will not hurt him.

Dorian hums softly against Bull’s neck. Content. Safe. _Full_. Bull is filling him up, putting back what the soldiers took from him. Bull can fix him. Bull _will_ fix him, and everything will be _fine_ again.

 _Three_. Oh. Oh Maker. Oh Maker, it _hurts, it’s too much, he can’t d—_ No. No, this is _Bull_. His amatus. His beloved. He can do this. He loves Bull. Bull will never hurt him. Three. He can do this. He can take three of Bull’s fingers. He will not cry. Not over this. Bull. Bull’s fingers. Three, slick and inside him and he can’t es—he can take this. It’s Bull. He’s with his amatus, he won’t be hurt here.

Dorian rolls his hips against Bull’s and whines softly and Bull stills him with a hand on his hip. He wants. He needs. He has to have this or they’ll win. Bull’s fingers withdraw, and he feels hollow and empty again. Hollow.

Slick. Hard. Warm, and pressing into him. Bull. Bull. Bull. Bull wo _-rescue you? You think he’s going to rescue you?_ Dorian shudders as Bull’s thumb strokes little circles on his hip. He doesn’t open his eyes. He will not say the word. He will _not_. He _needs_ to do this. The soldiers can’t take this from him and if he opens his eyes he will lose his nerve because he _knows_ Bull will be so concerned for him and he will… _break, damn you! Just…_ unh _. Fuckin-_ Bull loves him. Bull would want him to st—

 _No, no Maker,_ please! _Too big, you’re too big! Oh, Maker’s breath, please, please, stop, it_ hurts _make it stop I’ll do any-_

Amatus. Amatus. _Amatus, save me…_

Dorian chokes. Bull is in him. Big. Hard. This is _Bull_. Not the soldiers. Bull is not restraining him. Bull’s hand is on his hip, soothing not controlling. Bull loves him. He won’t be hurt here. But Bull is so _big_ … _Too big, O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nigh…please, please, stop, I’ll do anything…_

He sobs.

_O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You woul—please, please, please stop it hurts, please you’re hurting me!_

Bull _loves_ him. Bull, Bull is the one in him, filling and stretching and so utterly, devotedly _gentle_. Gentle. Gentle. Amatus… Amatus, help me!

_For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in pla-ah, please, please stop!-only in pl-places You have bless-ah! H-h-hurts…_

Tears. Wet. His cheeks are wet. Why is he crying? He doesn’t need to cry. Bull is taking care of him. Bull _loves_ him. His amatus. Bull is his amatus. Not his ene- He opens his eyes.

“Katoh!”

Dorian flops gracelessly away from Bull and curls up, sobbing. “Katoh, katoh, katoh, katoh!” he chants. Katoh. Make it _stop_. Make it stop make it stopmakeit _stop!_ “Katoh!” Whining. No. No, he wants this to _stop!_ He wants Bull! He wants to love and hold and let Bull take him. Katoh. He said his word.   It has to _stop!_

“Kadan?” Concern. Dorian shudders, swallows a scream. Hand on his hip, too tight, too heavy. He bites his hand and sobs. He wants Bull. Not the soldiers. Not the Inquisitor. He wants to be _safe_ , to have Bull protect him. He wants his amatus to be the only one in his head…

Dorian shakes and sobs. Someone cradles him gently in large, warm arms. Rocking. Comfort. Gentle. There’s a humming noise in his ears. Humming.

“I’m so sorry, kadan.” A gentle whisper in his hair. Gentle. Not the enemy. Not. Not. _NOT!_ Dorian wails softly as Bull cradles him gently in his lap.

They’ve taken Bull from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that wasn't heartbreaking or anything terrible, was it?

**Author's Note:**

> What, you thought Dorian wouldn't suffer? I swear, he will eventually recover.


End file.
